


A moment or seven

by Wrathofscribbles



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21978325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: Together once, now apart.But not for long.
Kudos: 9





	A moment or seven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bulletprccf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bulletprccf/gifts).



> **Big bold reminder that FFVII and its content are property of Square Enix.** I just play around in the sandpit they've created and scream about my faves.
> 
> 2nd person perspective/Vincent's POV

** One **

The mansion again. Why must you always come back to this house of horrors?

 _Masochist. Glutton for punishment. Always stuck in the past._ Is this your curse, to lose your footing before you can move forward? Are you doomed to always lose your way?

It's cold outside, a brutal chill worming into your lungs when you dare a venture through the gardens. And why not - who here will stop you? Hojo, dead a week now except for the remnant of your memories? At least here you can shoot him fi-

A board creaks, no footsteps in pursuit. You turn, curious, what game is your mind playing this time?

Not you at all, but him.

Not a game, but his smile.

A warning - something is wrong, so very wrong, prickling up your spine as the others stir.

"Chaos," you say, or would had you a voice, one step staggered towards him. "Chaos, _wait_."

The door slams shut, you wake alone.

* * *

** Two **

You find yourself watching the night sky sometimes, though for what you cannot say. The slow death of another world? A new threat to the Planet looming on the horizon, as bloody as the carnage it causes? One more sunrise, perhaps, a sliver of hope when all seems lost? The stars glitter in silent confession - no soul races for them this night, or any other night. There is no shadow racing dawn across the clouds, no inkstain shot through all that purple and blue.

He's gone, and he's not coming back.

* * *

** Three **

It's seen better days, this cupboard you call home.

_Laughable, the lies you tell yourself. Home? What home can you make for yourself when the **heart** is missing?_

You silence their voices easily enough, the headmates who still remain. All it takes is a fist through cracked expanse and all your reflections crumble. Out of sight and out of mind, yes?

You open the windows and launder the linens, throw the curtains wide to let some light in.

 _I'm here_ , the declaration, _I'm here, I'm alive._

But it's only your neighbours who drop by.

* * *

** Four **

It aches, still, with every heartbeat, the scarring on your chest. Your life his prison, your will his shackle. How easily broken with but a blade torn through, why never use his claws? You are still fragile in the most human of ways, are you not? Why not attack in your sleep?

Rosso's handiwork, this ugly thing, and from him not even a bruise. Why? Why, why, _why?_

You leave one yourself, instead.

* * *

** Five **

They're not black at all, his wings. At least not all over as you first thought. The sun paints him in a different light, banishes the shadows he's so fond of, this creature of smoke and mirrors.

Red like your eyes, and the blood in his veins. Strong to sail air currents and plough through storms and yet here... fragile, almost. Limp and weak. Something wrong, _again_.

Mako poisoning. He's not napping at all.

* * *

**Six**

You live in a doll's house compared to him. You're certain he'll bang his head on the doorframes if he stands up, if he's not outright _stuck_ in the middle. Broad in the shoulders where you are not, practically buried under every blanket you own. Unusual, this silence, when you've spent most of the past 3 decades wanting to cut your own head off if only _to_ shut him up.

Even more unusual - a body in your bed at all. You've always preferred the armchair.

* * *

** Seven **

You had water in your glass last night. Wine in the fridge. How the fuck -

"Your breath is terrible. Consider the vodka thanks for not leaving me for the carrion birds. Good morning, by the way."

His eyes are glassy, still, and green around the pupils. But he's awake, at least, more than you expected.

_"Chaos."_

"Hello, old friend."


End file.
